Post by kiso on Jul 2, 2016 13:40:18 GMT
[[This'll just be a random collection of stuff surrounding my toons actions when they can't be feasibly or easily played out in game.]]
G'trok considered himself a very lucky man. A turn ago, he was a crewman on a ship owned by the House of Karag. A ship who's captain had thrown his allegiance at the usurper Rhetok and his puppet lord, convincing him of many things that would be considered treachery among not only his House, but the entire Klingon Empire. But, with Rhetok's death, and the re assimilation of the rouge elements back into the House proper, the Lord and Lady cut a swathe through the ranks. G'trok avoided the blade by turning in his captain, along with evidence of his own unease at the circumstance of following Rhetok, and got off lightly. Not many were as fortunate.
However, the glory of ship combat was taken from him, and he now found himself in the menial post of a security guard at the Lord's manner, the frigid yoDjuH'a' chal'taD. Not that it mattered, to him. He was alive, therefore had ample opportunities to reclaim his honer at a later date. Activity in the castle was in earnest, recently, since though Lord Karag was protecting the Empire's interests across the quadrent, the Lady, Tira Vero of the Honor Guard, was present. And in a mood most foul for reasons G'trok only heard in hearsay in the keep's meal room. And he wasn't in any position to inquire further, save the open secret that the Lord and Lady, to prevent another usurper stealing away the House, were to have a child and heir in the event the House was not awarded to the Orion.
G'trok mulled over this and other things on his PADD as he sat watch down in the dungeon. One who's only recent use was the incarceration of Rhetok's accomplices. Better them than me, he thought before being pulled from his thoughts by footsteps in the stairwell.
"G'trok!" exclaimed the Nausicaan that descended the steps. "Good to see you survived another night watch down here!" he laughed, tusks clicking in time with his chuckling.
"Indeed I have, Mupa. Not like they'd give me any trouble, either way." G'trok answered, waving his hand in the direction of three frozen bodies, one of which was horribly mutilated on top of that.
"Well, they lasted a few months. A month longer that I thought, so I guess that means I owe you a weeks worth of Bloodwine?"
"That you do." smirked the Klingon. "Feel free to start paying up when next we make it to the mess. Qapla'!"
"Qapla'!" returned the Nasuicaan as he relieved G'trok of his post, the Klingon making short work of ascending the stairs and passing out into the courtyard. Despite his colleagues assertions, it was still dark over this region of the home world, due both to it's damaged atmosphere, and the perpetual storm howling above and around the ancient castle. He made his way over the yard, giving nods to soldiers and smiths, training and working away despite the storm. He did give as wide a berth as possible to the strategically placed Honor Guard members standing watch, the ever present reminder that someone very important was present at the Home of House Karag.
And he especially took it upon himself to avoid that one Ferasan that prowled the halls. Bar rumor stated she was with intelligence, and after everything that had happened over the last turn or two, G'trok didn't want to risk disappearing. He reached the mess hall, barely ducking under the form of a Lethean as he opened the doors, the room alive with laughter and a few fist fights. After all, Mess hall's were the most dangerous places in the Empire, seeing as who you were and what you did meant nothing in them. Rather than try to wade through the menagerie of persons occupying the bar, he decided to make for his room.
It was a short walk up to the second level of the rampart overlooking the main building, the fires alive in both as G'trok envisioned the off duty Honor Guardian's enjoying some feast or other in the main hall. With a shrug, he continued, until something caught his ear. No, that scream was not the howling of the wind. It definitely wasn't a ship flying overhead, it must have been...
G'trok bounded down the halls, joined my an assortment of other personnel as he raced towards the main building. Surely an assailant couldn't have got passed the full might of Karag's forces, could they? Or was there a traitor in their midst that was merely waiting for the right time to strike? Either way, every able bodied man and woman in the castle was going to make them regret it. The growing group skidded around the corner to see two concerned looking Orion women standing outside the master bedroom.
"What's going on here?! Why aren't you inside?! Our lady could be under attack, and you're doing nothing!" voices bellowed from the crowd as they pushed the pair aside, trying in vain to force the ancient, heavy lock on the equally ancient door. "What are you two doing?! Send for help!" Shouted a Gorn, barely audible over the shrieking come from both inside and out. And as both parties stared each other down, the noise stopped. "We are too late!" came a call, before the loud, heavy clunking sound of the door drew everyone's attention. From the partition emerged a purple haired Orion woman, removing elbow length surgical gloves, dripping with dark emerald liquid. Most likely blood, considering the reactions from some of the gathered crowd. "You?! What did you do?!" shouted G'trok.
The woman stoically replied, "I am Nurema, Our Lady Vero's personal HaqwI'." as she discarded the gloves, looking over the assembled crowd. "Lay down your weapons, for today is a day of celebration."
"What do you mean?" asked one of the Gorn behind G'trok. The purple haired woman looked over her shoulder into the Lord and Lady's chambers in response to a sound. The sound of an infant crying.
"Summon the Lord home!" she began, looking back to the others. "And let it be known throughout our forces and across the Empire! House Karag has an heir!"
A few moments of silence commenced as everyone processed what was just said, before the crowd erupted into thunderous applause and cheers, some of them running to inform the rest of the castle. G'trok stood there, staring blankly before making his way quickly to the communication post. After all, there was news to spread. And this news meant there would be a week of celebration in House Karag, at least. And he was looking forward to it.
G'trok considered himself a very lucky man. A turn ago, he was a crewman on a ship owned by the House of Karag. A ship who's captain had thrown his allegiance at the usurper Rhetok and his puppet lord, convincing him of many things that would be considered treachery among not only his House, but the entire Klingon Empire. But, with Rhetok's death, and the re assimilation of the rouge elements back into the House proper, the Lord and Lady cut a swathe through the ranks. G'trok avoided the blade by turning in his captain, along with evidence of his own unease at the circumstance of following Rhetok, and got off lightly. Not many were as fortunate.
However, the glory of ship combat was taken from him, and he now found himself in the menial post of a security guard at the Lord's manner, the frigid yoDjuH'a' chal'taD. Not that it mattered, to him. He was alive, therefore had ample opportunities to reclaim his honer at a later date. Activity in the castle was in earnest, recently, since though Lord Karag was protecting the Empire's interests across the quadrent, the Lady, Tira Vero of the Honor Guard, was present. And in a mood most foul for reasons G'trok only heard in hearsay in the keep's meal room. And he wasn't in any position to inquire further, save the open secret that the Lord and Lady, to prevent another usurper stealing away the House, were to have a child and heir in the event the House was not awarded to the Orion.
G'trok mulled over this and other things on his PADD as he sat watch down in the dungeon. One who's only recent use was the incarceration of Rhetok's accomplices. Better them than me, he thought before being pulled from his thoughts by footsteps in the stairwell.
"G'trok!" exclaimed the Nausicaan that descended the steps. "Good to see you survived another night watch down here!" he laughed, tusks clicking in time with his chuckling.
"Indeed I have, Mupa. Not like they'd give me any trouble, either way." G'trok answered, waving his hand in the direction of three frozen bodies, one of which was horribly mutilated on top of that.
"Well, they lasted a few months. A month longer that I thought, so I guess that means I owe you a weeks worth of Bloodwine?"
"That you do." smirked the Klingon. "Feel free to start paying up when next we make it to the mess. Qapla'!"
"Qapla'!" returned the Nasuicaan as he relieved G'trok of his post, the Klingon making short work of ascending the stairs and passing out into the courtyard. Despite his colleagues assertions, it was still dark over this region of the home world, due both to it's damaged atmosphere, and the perpetual storm howling above and around the ancient castle. He made his way over the yard, giving nods to soldiers and smiths, training and working away despite the storm. He did give as wide a berth as possible to the strategically placed Honor Guard members standing watch, the ever present reminder that someone very important was present at the Home of House Karag.
And he especially took it upon himself to avoid that one Ferasan that prowled the halls. Bar rumor stated she was with intelligence, and after everything that had happened over the last turn or two, G'trok didn't want to risk disappearing. He reached the mess hall, barely ducking under the form of a Lethean as he opened the doors, the room alive with laughter and a few fist fights. After all, Mess hall's were the most dangerous places in the Empire, seeing as who you were and what you did meant nothing in them. Rather than try to wade through the menagerie of persons occupying the bar, he decided to make for his room.
It was a short walk up to the second level of the rampart overlooking the main building, the fires alive in both as G'trok envisioned the off duty Honor Guardian's enjoying some feast or other in the main hall. With a shrug, he continued, until something caught his ear. No, that scream was not the howling of the wind. It definitely wasn't a ship flying overhead, it must have been...
G'trok bounded down the halls, joined my an assortment of other personnel as he raced towards the main building. Surely an assailant couldn't have got passed the full might of Karag's forces, could they? Or was there a traitor in their midst that was merely waiting for the right time to strike? Either way, every able bodied man and woman in the castle was going to make them regret it. The growing group skidded around the corner to see two concerned looking Orion women standing outside the master bedroom.
"What's going on here?! Why aren't you inside?! Our lady could be under attack, and you're doing nothing!" voices bellowed from the crowd as they pushed the pair aside, trying in vain to force the ancient, heavy lock on the equally ancient door. "What are you two doing?! Send for help!" Shouted a Gorn, barely audible over the shrieking come from both inside and out. And as both parties stared each other down, the noise stopped. "We are too late!" came a call, before the loud, heavy clunking sound of the door drew everyone's attention. From the partition emerged a purple haired Orion woman, removing elbow length surgical gloves, dripping with dark emerald liquid. Most likely blood, considering the reactions from some of the gathered crowd. "You?! What did you do?!" shouted G'trok.
The woman stoically replied, "I am Nurema, Our Lady Vero's personal HaqwI'." as she discarded the gloves, looking over the assembled crowd. "Lay down your weapons, for today is a day of celebration."
"What do you mean?" asked one of the Gorn behind G'trok. The purple haired woman looked over her shoulder into the Lord and Lady's chambers in response to a sound. The sound of an infant crying.
"Summon the Lord home!" she began, looking back to the others. "And let it be known throughout our forces and across the Empire! House Karag has an heir!"
A few moments of silence commenced as everyone processed what was just said, before the crowd erupted into thunderous applause and cheers, some of them running to inform the rest of the castle. G'trok stood there, staring blankly before making his way quickly to the communication post. After all, there was news to spread. And this news meant there would be a week of celebration in House Karag, at least. And he was looking forward to it.